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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22373734">Choking Through the Cyanide</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>South Park</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Alternate Universe, Blood and Violence, British Character, Childhood Trauma, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Espionage, Established Relationship, French Characters, Love/Hate, M/M, Murderers, Poison, References to Depression, Rescue Missions, Road Trips, Secret Relationship, Sexual Violence, Spies &amp; Secret Agents, Swearing, Trench Warfare, Unhealthy Relationships, War</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 13:54:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,476</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22373734</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Amid the Canadian/American war, one small rebel faction fights to stop the war, and free the war criminals Terrance and Phillip from the government.</p><p>In a secret operation led by military strategist Gregory of Yardale, Ze Mole begrudgingly accepts a mission that might either end the war, do nothing at all, or give him a reason to believe in La resistance, after losing hope so many years ago.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Christophe "The Mole"/Gregory of Yardale, Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Kissing Frogs Again</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a cold, depressing day for America. Granted all the days now dragged on as shit days, ever since the fucking war began. It had been two years since it started, but at least Christophe had work, to keep god from fucking disturbing him through priests and churches and shit. He probably would have been a mercenary if the war hadn’t given him a legal excuse to do the only thing he knew how. Digging trenches for the fucking foot soldiers on the front lines, pretending to fight for their lives behind the safeguard of dirt and earth, just so god had to go out of his way to kill the bitches using bombs. And what a fucking waste of ammunition that was.</p><p> </p><p>This is what he thought about while digging the long deep tunnels from the compact earth surrounding no man’s land between the border of Canada and the USA. He was always covered in a layer of grime, both from lack of resources to bathe regularly and the constant exposure to pure dirt. The fucking stuff was everywhere, through his hair and nails, and maybe if he was some emotional faggot he’d be annoyed and grossed out, but it was second nature now to see himself and think, huh, I guess I’m a fucking dirty bastard. What a fucking surprise.</p><p> </p><p>He was alone digging these trenches; the others having abandoned their posts months ago. The pathetic fags got too worried about the real possibility of dying on the field if the opposition attacked. A few of them did die, but mostly because they couldn’t dig for shit, let alone initiate survival procedures during air strikes. It was obvious that those risks were always part of the job, and Christophe thought if you can’t handle it, go sign up for a paper-pushing position in the headquarters of the base, like all those official dickheads. Those effeminate bitches got off on the simple task of telling others lower than them to kiss their asses and go fight for something that was a fucking hopeless cause.</p><p>Christophe knew this whole thing was a waste of time, the decision to rebel against the American and Canadian governments into a small splinter faction. Viva la resistance, they called themselves. Maybe once, Christophe also believed in them, that they could show the fighting powers they weren’t going to fucking take it. He didn’t care anymore, if war taught him anything, it was that you can’t fight for a cause you believe in, because those bitches will take everything from you in a heartbeat that they think holds any significance to you. He didn’t really have anything of heartfelt worth to him anyway, his mother was already dead. And she tried to kill him with a fucking coat hanger to avoid giving birth to him anyway, so what the fuck did he care what happened to her?</p><p> </p><p>No, he was fine. He’s been digging holes since he was a little boy, still so fucking immature, but he learnt, and now that’s all he knows. Working all day and for most of the night, he earns enough money to pay for his cigarettes, and a room in a whore house in a small town near his camp. Christophe didn’t actually pay for whores to fuck him, but the sound of that occurring in the rooms adjacent to him helped his ass sleep, reminding him of similar sounds of his childhood, where his papa would fuck little mistresses every night while his mother slept in another room, sometimes fucking her own suitors. They both cried out more than necessary, just so the other would hear them and know what was going on. The selfish sham of a marriage finally ended when his mother finally bashed the bastards head in with a fire poke and proceeded to gut herself with the same fire poke in front of little Christophe. The one thing he remembers thinking was: thank fucking god you merciless faggot for finally doing something with your pitiful existence, followed by taking a drag of his cigarette and walking out of the house, never to return.</p><p> </p><p>He’d been digging for hours already when the soldiers appeared and stood at attention behind him, waiting for him to pause his fucking job that they depended on so they could have his attention. Christophe snorted and kept digging, making a point to flick the dirt in their faces as he crouched over with his shovel, relentlessly digging deeper. One of the faggots purposefully coughed, and Christophe could feel them radiating awkwardness.</p><p>‘’What ‘ze fuck do you want,’’ Christophe grumbled thickly, his teeth holding his cigarette, still digging. He didn’t turn to face them.</p><p>‘’Are you the mole?’’ One of the soldiers asked clumsily, obviously American. Christophe scoffed, pausing and puffing out a cloud of smoke, then returning to shovelling the earth.</p><p>‘’What’ ‘zit to you faggots?’’ Christophe snarled. He sensed one of them move towards him, and he turned to face them, distrusting to have his back turned to them. They were definitely foot soldiers, one short older man and a young tall man with a particular unease about him, both wearing the signature rebel brown. He looked afraid, and Christophe wondered what the fuck he was doing in a goddamn rebel camp if real war scared the shit of him like it looked like it did. The older man stepped forward like an authority and regarded Christophe with a seriousness he snorted at.</p><p>‘’We’ve been deployed by the headquarters of Viva la resistance to deliver a warrant for your company at base camp. Your assistance is required with the oncoming operations, that’s all we’ve been authorised to say at this time. Your presence is requested immediately,’’ the older man stated, tipping his chin up in an official manner.</p><p>‘’I’ve been paid to dig ditches for those bitches, not be in ‘ze fucking army,’’ Christophe spat, taking a drag and slouching down, inspecting his work.</p><p>‘’It’s not my place to tell you your job, so you’ll have to take it up with my superiors. We’ve just been given orders to escort you to headquarters,’’ The older soldier said.</p><p>‘’How about you eh?’’ Christophe nodded to the quiet younger man who was on the verge of shitting himself. He looked surprised Christophe referred to him.</p><p>‘’What about me?’’ He asked, confused.</p><p>‘’Are you going to order me like your geriatric fuck buddy to see the preeks in charge?’’ Christophe asked, raising an eyebrow at the nervous American boy.</p><p>‘’Well uh, yeah that’s been the order. And we gotta follow them,’’ He said uncertainly, as though the pussy couldn’t decide if he had to follow the fucking rules.</p><p>‘’Very well. I shall attend ‘ze meeting with ‘ze preeks. I need no escort,’’ Christophe said, swinging his shovel over his shoulder and walking past them. They were awestruck, and pathetically watched him as he sauntered away, not bothering with their trivial orders. That was for the quacks who couldn’t fight to save their life and needed fucking soldiers to hold their hand.</p><p>‘’Excuse me- we’ve been told to escort you!’’ The older man called, following Christophe through the trench to the safe zone to get out.</p><p>‘’Fuck off. I find my own way,’’ Christophe shouted, climbing up the ladder haggardly and leaving the trench with a grunt. He was not a go-lucky soldier who followed the rules like those cocksuckers with their tails between their legs. Fucking Administration wants to see him, they can bloody well see him when he feels like it. He could always offer his services to the American army, hell even the Canadian one. The rebel camp was doomed anyway, one trench-digging French boy wasn’t going to change that.</p><p> </p><p>Christophe headed to the campsite positioned a kilometre away from no mans land, and where his trenches lined the place. The rebels were not currently fighting anyone on these fields, but they hired Mole to prepare for the eventuality when they finally got off their asses and did something.</p><p>He would get this meeting over with quickly, not wanting to spend any more time than was necessary with some trigger-happy pricks who would ask him some shit he couldn’t care less about. Maybe he was getting fired too, he wasn’t above thinking that. Everyone else had left already, the cocksuckers probably thought it was time to give up completely.</p><p>He arrived at the rebel base camp that day, wanting to get it over with, and using the excuse that he had to stop digging to give them shit for their pathetic livelihoods. He was not in a good mood, but he never was these days.</p><p>People were buzzing around like fucking fairies in their special brown uniforms, proud of themselves for wiping their own asses and being awarded little sparkly badges like the pussies they were. Some were wielding guns, and Christophe guaranteed not a single one of them knew how to aim properly, let alone pulling the trigger without shitting their panties. He walked through the muddy ground on the camp, looking at the soldiers and buildings around him with a scowl of distaste. One of the soldiers caught his eye, he was probably the most relaxed and disenfranchised person wielding a weapon and wearing the brown uniform he’d seen. He was leaning with his leg up against a shed, drinking from a flask. The soldier saw Christophe staring at him and he smirked, nodding his head up at him and winking. He was blonde, a dirty mop of hair swishing in his face, and Christophe could say it was nearly as messy as his own. Christophe grunted and kept moving, eyeing the man suspiciously as he walked away, distrusting him somehow. It was something about him, something he seemed to be hiding underneath that wicked confidence.</p><p>Christophe eventually made it to the big concrete building that seemed to be the only one that couldn’t be blown away by a storm like the tents around it. It was dark and official, with two guards stationed at the one entrance. Those big guns that they were showing off like prairie dogs would’ve no doubt scared the foot soldiers senseless, giving them plenty reason to scurry away from the main building where the rebels probably planned everything in, the idiots. If the American government got sick of their tirades, they could drop a nuke of this central place, and boom! No more resistance.</p><p>Christophe walked up to the front doors were the guards were posted, and tried to walk straight in. The guards yelled and moved to him with their cocksucking guns poised at him.</p><p>‘’Hey! Officials only in this part of camp!’’ One cocksucker yelled at him.</p><p>‘’Back away now, or there will be trouble!’’ The other cocksucker yelled, training his gun at Christophe. He scoffed, batting the tip away from him in disgust.</p><p>‘’Fuck off. I have ‘ze business to attend,’’ Christophe snarled, trying the doors again. They were locked, and Christophe growled in annoyance.</p><p>‘’If you have official business in here, you’ll need to be escorted and checked through with security first. You’ll need to come with us,’’ the first guard said.</p><p>‘’Fine, take me to your boss, bitches. Try not to trip on ‘ze floor eh?’’ Christophe mocked, feeling shitty.</p><p>This whole place, the rules, the protocol. He hated it so much he felt like digging a hole in the ground and hiding there, dying when he got sick of the boring ritual of breathing, or when he ran out of cigarettes. He was still smoking one now and growled menacingly like a fucking guard dog when he was told there was no smoking allowed in the building, once the guards escorted him past the front doors to the security section to check him over. He threw his cigarette down with a grunt on the floor, letting it burn away before a guard stomped it down with an annoyed huff.</p><p>‘’What next, are you pussies gonna say clothes aren’t allowed in ‘zis building either? When did I walk into ‘ze faggot camp?’’</p><p>The guards didn’t respond and proceeded to give Christophe a ‘routine’ check for weapons, and to ensure he wasn’t here to infiltrate the base or whatever the fuck. Why anyone would go to the effort to run this shitpile was fucking insane, or just a miserable, bored idiot. He felt himself snarling at every move they made and didn’t check himself up for it. He’d made his bed when he decided to avoid civilisation and just dig fucking trenches for these optimistic pussies, he wasn’t going to apologise when he didn’t curtsy to the guard when they looked like they were waiting for him to, and shocked when he hadn’t done so yet.</p><p>The pussies passed him over to another pair of cocksucking guards, these ones especially effeminate. They were probably served <em>Soupe à l'oignon</em> on their tea breaks and being paid to stand around and look like they were actually protecting something. La resistance hasn’t done anything worthy and important in the war for 12 years, when they made an attempt to rescue the infamous war criminals Terrance and Phillip, and they even failed then, inevitably. Christophe had actually been part of the mission at that point, but that was forgotten history he chose not to remember. So, these faggots probably didn’t actually do anything all day except show people around like fucking escorts.</p><p>Christophe was led through corridor upon corridor, and it was honestly confusing where he even was right now, he actually missed the dirt. The floors were solid, if quite dirty, but not the same as he was used to. His walking actually felt unbalanced, like it was the first time he didn’t have to stagger his steps on uneven war-marred earth. The guards took him to a conference room, as they put it, which was very bare and stark white, the only thing in the room being a large table with two metal chairs facing opposite each other.</p><p>‘’Stay here for now, and someone will see you shortly,’’ One guard said, and Christophe scowled.</p><p>‘’What? You’re just gonna lock me here and gas me when you get bored watching me rip my fucking hair out.’’</p><p>‘’For gods sake calm down. This isn’t a prison.’’</p><p>Christophe scoffed, turning away from them.</p><p>‘’God is ‘ze biggest bitch of z’em all. You end up with a cock up your ass if you rely on that asshole,’’ Christophe spat. The guard’s shut the door on him, muttering ‘Jesus Christ’ and disappearing, leaving him trapped in their confined little white box with no information as to how long he’d have to stay in this glorified shit stack.</p><p>He perched himself on the table and fetched a cigarette from a hidden compartment of his pants, taking a lighter from the same pocket and lighting it. He leaned there against the table for a while, blowing out smoke and looking around the room with tired eyes. He’s sure he stood out in the bleach white room like a shit in porcelain, but he considered it more a comfort, considering how cold and bleak the white was. Eventually the door opened from the other side of the room, and Christophe glanced over his shoulder, seeing that it wasn’t another one of the cocksucking guards, though he wasn’t sure who these two people were. They weren’t wearing soldier brown like the guards, one red headed guy was in a military green shirt and pants, the other with black hair in a brown bomber jacket and cargo pants. They didn’t even look like they were in a uniform. Christophe was a little more interested, if he met someone decent, who didn’t look like their heads were up their asses.</p><p>‘’Ze fuck, are you?’’ Christophe asked, turning to them as they stood in the entrance side by side. Noirette spoke first, stepping forward in a somewhat official manner.</p><p>‘’Ze Mole? I’m Marsh from headquarters, and this is my colleague Broflovski,’’ Marsh referred to the red head, who nodded solemnly. ‘’We’ve called you in today asking for your help in some matters regarding La resistance and the war. We’re not authorised to tell you anymore unless you agree to help,’’ Marsh said, apologetically. Christophe looked the two men over. They looked no older than him, maybe younger, and Christophe was surprised this shitty enterprise even had kids running the higher up places. They must have been desperate, or these two just happened to be very good at what they did. Christophe was that way, he’d been digging since he was 5, and only started doing it professionally at age 7.</p><p>‘’What ‘ze fuck do you need me for?’’ Christophe asked. Broflovski took the lead this time. The two of them seemed to be working on one clock function, in sync with whose turn to do what was.</p><p>‘’Our operation has been informed of your military and espionage expertise. La resistance has not forgotten who you are, and we need you now,’’ Broflovski said. Christophe jerked in surprise, then took his cigarette out and blew a smoke, peering at them as he rolled the cigarette between his fingers.</p><p>‘’Who sent you? How do you know about me?’’ Christophe asked.</p><p>‘’Viva la resistance never forgets. Broflovski and I have been sent by the head strategist, we work for him. So, if you agree we can take you to him, and he’ll explain this mission further.’’</p><p>‘’I’m not agreeing with sheet until I know more!’’ Christophe said. Marsh exchanged a look with Broflovski, and Christophe snarled. Marsh sighed.</p><p>‘’Alright then. We’ll take you to him. He’ll explain more,’’ Marsh said, beckoning him forward as they went to the door together, the fuckers wouldn’t even walk without being joined at the hip. Christophe suspected they were fucking, but he didn’t say anything, mostly because he couldn’t care less if this job was so boring, they needed to get through it with fucking each other’s asses, that was their problem.</p><p>They led him through the doors and immediately the bleak, stark corridors and conference room from before became decorated and busy halls with people buzzing around in them. People actually looked like they were doing something now, actually working instead of holding guns and standing around. Marsh and Broflovski headed through the wide halls and inside some doors housing a large central area, where the place was lined with technology. The walls had large digital maps and aerial views. People were at computers around the room, and in the centre was a huge table with what looked like a model battlefield laid out on it, people buzzing around it and moving the model planes on the layout.<br/>
Christophe was taken straight to this main table in the centre of the room, and Marsh cleared his throat.</p><p>‘’Sir, we have Ze mole here,’’ Marsh said. A man who was facing the table and leaning down onto it, turned and face them. He was another blonde, but he looked much more refined than the rough man he saw outside. His hair was combed neatly back, and he as only a dull orange shirt, unbuttoned to reveal the start of his bare chest. The shirt was tucked in, and he wore black gloves. The was had an air about him that made Christophe think he was entirely stuck up, and as though he was better than everyone in this whole camp. He looked unimpressed by Marsh and Broflovski and raised his chin at them. They stepped aside so he could get a better look at him.</p><p>‘’You must be Ze Mole, I’m Gregory of Yardale, the leader of Viva la Resistance.’’</p><p>Fuck him, he’s a fucking brit.</p><p>Christophe took a drag, and Gregory raised his eyebrows.</p><p>‘’Smoking is not permitted in this building, you’ll need to dispose of that properly,’’ Gregory said, his voice polished, sneering at Christophe. Christophe spat.</p><p>‘’You need better guards ‘zen,’’ Christophe said, puffing the smoke in the brit’s face. He now looked unimpressed by Christophe too now.</p><p>‘’Marsh, have you given him the details of this mission yet?’’ Gregory turned to Marsh, who shifted uncomfortably.</p><p>‘’Um, no. He hasn’t agreed to do it yet,’’ Marsh said, rubbing the back of his neck. Gregory frowned.</p><p>‘’Why would you bring him here then, to this secret part of the building, if he hasn’t even fucking accepted the job?’’ Gregory asked. Marsh wilted.</p><p>‘’I’m not doing sheet until I know what. Why ‘ze fuck am I even here?’’ Christophe asked, throwing his arms out. Gregory frowned.</p><p>‘’Perhaps we should just tell him now. If he’s turns rogue, we’ll just have to deal with him the way we always do,’’ Gregory said. Christophe snorted.</p><p>‘’Z’It’s about time you pussies started warring,’’ Christophe said. Gregory huffed, and gestured Christophe to follow him. He walked like a fucking supermodel, up straight and poised like he was on display. Christophe had never felt more aware of his slouching before now. He led Christophe to another conference room, this one much larger and void of white, thank fuck. It actually looked like people used it, unlike the other nightmare in the entrance.</p><p>Gregory gave Christophe a chair and he sat, waiting to be enlightened by this fantastic fucking plan the asshole had for him. He didn’t realise once he’d heard it, it would change everything.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Gregory remained standing as Christophe took a seat, grumbling to himself. Gregory observed his mannerisms, the resigned and jerking movements of his slouching walk, the scowling expression on his face, his smoke lines. Real world cynic, he deduced, but he was confident other characteristics would present the closer they became during the mission. Because he was accepting the mission, Gregory would make sure of that. They were teetering on a delicate tightrope, currently, and this was a go-for-broke attempt to finally achieve the goals Gregory endured so much hardship to succeed in the Resistance. He would not let this war continue under its current situation, America about to break out full scale decimation on Canada, and Canada about to retaliate in a way that would change their lives, in the worst possible way. Whatever came to mind as the worst scenario, it would need to be duplicated to content with their upcoming reality. So that’s where this French war child came in, though Gregory was somewhat surprised seeing him in person, envisioning a much older looking person. Christophe looked his own age, which was surprising. Barely anybody in their twenties rose the ranks enough to make a true impact, unless they were very skilled. Which only certified that this was the right person to join him.</p><p>‘’So, what’s ‘zis fantastic plan of yours, eh?’’ Christophe asked with a heavy accent, another reason Gregory chose him. Although his brothers of America were nice, their outlook was usually skewed and insufferable to Gregory’s ears, much preferring the pleasant lilt of English, or better yet, French. Unfortunately, his European brothers were few in number in this country, those who participate in the war time effort anyway. Hearing about a Frenchman war strategist living close by to the base, sounded too good to be true.</p><p>‘’I assume your experience with the war has been an unpleasant one, thus far?’’ Gregory said, narrowing his eyes, putting on a professional mask. Christophe turned to face him dead on, glaring with his soulful dark brown eyes. Gregory stared back, waiting. He’s been playing this interrogation game for years. Christophe looked back away, patting his leg with an absent frown on his face.</p><p>‘’If you expect me to discuss ‘zis, I’ll be smoking while I do it,’’ Christophe said. Gregory nodded.</p><p>‘’Go ahead. I’ll allow it,’’ Gregory responded with a small smile. Bargaining, make them feel better, make them feel on top of the situation, which this man surely thought when he dug a hidden cigarette from one of his pant pockets. So he was versatile, he could hide useful items from guards. Interesting, and ultimately very useful. He watched, continued to wait patiently as Christophe took a few deep breaths on the nicotine. Gregory could detect the smoke lingering closer to him, but he was used to it, so he didn’t cough or express annoyance. Christophe spoke up again, focusing back on Gregory.</p><p>‘’You’re a successful lad eh? You’ve risen ‘ze ranks from a young age for your prowess and skill, Oi?’’ Christophe asked, surprising Gregory. He was impressed, that Christophe discerned that from looks alone. All the more useful, and Gregory was hiding a radiating smugness that could be associated with pre-emptive victory.</p><p>‘’That is accurate. I suppose you’re the same?’’ Gregory guessed, though he knew. Christophe was all over his files for the mission.</p><p>‘’Oi, but I didn’t progress ‘ze military ladder like you. I had to survive, I had to make it on my own at a time when ‘ze country I moved to suddenly burst into war. I was 4 years old when I first started digging, do you realise? I’ve been working with my hands for over sixteen years, and I learnt something very valuable, dear Rebel leader. That I can’t rely on sheet, because nothing you earn can be kept. We are all fucking apes at a zoo, intended to suffer in cages of denial and regret, until our master chooses ‘ze length of time we served our purpose and shoots us dead, because we are in control of nothing. ‘Ze masters make us think we have options, we are the gods of our own universe, but it’s a fucking pile of bullsheet,’’ Christophe said. He scowled and tapped out ashes on the table they were sitting at. ‘’So don’t try and convince me ‘zat joining your faggot brigade is anything but a waste of time.’’</p><p>Gregory kept staring, wondering. Christophe truly was something, something he hadn’t seen yet in this base, or really anywhere else. He was very intrigued, and hiding a quizzical expression that could be dissected by this Frenchman and used against him. He struck him as the kind who was capable of that. It was all the more intriguing</p><p>‘’I won’t try to convince you to join us,’’ Gregory said decisively, deciding his original tactic planned would fail for this particular man. Christophe raised his eyebrows at him, incredulous.</p><p>‘’Eh?’’</p><p>‘’You’ve been a dedicated veteran to war already. Whether or not you agree, you’ve contributed to our cause in ways we cannot begin to demonstrate our gratitude. So I will not be making bullshit facts and inspirational words of wisdom that condescend your position, and glorify my own,’’ Gregory said. Christophe let his mouth hang open, his smoke hanging precariously from his mouth. He quickly clamped it again, huffing and regaining his steely demeanour in a blink. Not everyone would’ve caught it, but Gregory had sharp eyes.</p><p>‘’So why am I here?’’ Christophe asked aggressively. Gregory relaxed his position, leaning back further in his seat.</p><p>‘’Do you know who I am?’’ Gregory asked, changing the subject, from Christophe’s perspective. It had a purpose. Christophe scoffed.</p><p>‘’No, I haven’t given it much thought who the effeminate preek in charge of this hopeless cause is,’’ Christophe said, resuming his smoking. Gregory smiled at that.</p><p>‘’I’m like you, believe it or not,’’ Gregory continued, ignoring the insult for now. It was irrelevant anyway. Christophe gave him a highly sceptical look, not believing that for a second.</p><p>‘’<em>Ouais, </em>did you watch your <em>maman </em>bash your <em>papa’s</em> head in with a fire poke, then gut herself with ‘ze same one in front of your nine year old eyes?’’ Christophe asked, his expression growing grave. Gregory harrumphed, crossing his arms.</p><p>‘’Non, <em>doux imbécile apitoyant, </em>I sliced my father open with my practise sword when he beat my mother to death in a drunken spell,’’ Gregory said completely seriously. He wasn’t about to let Christophe think he was the only person on earth who’s been hard done by. God’s fucked over other people too. Christophe dropped his cigarette from his mouth, and it clattered on the table, still burning. Gregory watched it make ashes on the metal table, and back up at Christophe. His first guess was that Christophe was shocked he’d killed his father, his second was that Gregory could actually speak French. It was probably a lesser concern for Christophe right now though. His eyes were big, regarding Gregory with shock. The smoke lines on his face were indented and impressive as he continued to boggle at Gregory, his eyes now reflecting sympathetic sadness.</p><p>‘’This is true, <em>âme souffrante</em>?’’ Christophe asked, his brown eyes softer and surprisingly unguarded for the first time. Gregory shrugged, not imagining that he’d bring this up first meet. The plan was to convince him, not earn his pity. He’d become side-tracked upon actually interacting with the man he’d been closely studying for the mission. Real faces and screens were very different, Gregory was realising.</p><p>‘’The point I’m trying to make, is that we are not so different. And I think you could’ve risen to my position had you expressed the passion for strategy,’’ Gregory said, hoping Christophe would understand, and get the connection. Christophe looked away, frowning.</p><p>‘’It’s not ‘zat I hate war strategy. I do know things. I just can’t abide by conventions, and ‘zis sheet show soldiers call home. It’s too precise, too calculated,’’ Christophe said, still looking away. Gregory smiled, a proper smile, happy to know it worked.</p><p>‘’And now we come back to the mission. Which, If you’d abide by me explaining it, I can convey how opposite it is to your preconceived soldier stereotype,’’ Gregory said. Christophe turned his unguarded expression back to one of world-weary coldness.</p><p>‘’I see what you did there, <em>petit baiseur. </em>You’re a sly cocksucker, just like ‘ze rest of them. You won’t tempt me into joining your circus,’’ Christophe spat.</p><p>‘’Fair enough. Would you care to hear it anyway?’’ Gregory asked. Christophe frowned, but Gregory could tell he was considering it, curious.</p><p>‘’You may as well, if you came this far from your own post,’’ Gregory said, acting resigned that Christophe would agree, though he was hiding glowing victory.</p><p>‘’Very well. Explain your brilliant useless plot,’’ Christophe said with a hand wave, fuzzing the smoke trailing off his cigarette in the air.</p><p>‘’Excellent,’’ Gregory smiled, getting an eye roll from Christophe. ‘’I’m sure a person of your standing is aware of the resistance’s crumbling failure in recent years, and the teetering edge of international decimation this fight will have on all of us. That, my comrade, is by design. The rebels had been growing too strong, and they were proving a true threat to America in their own skewed goals. A threat that they were dedicating more time and attention too. Our initial success was due to the element of surprise, and how little the government was aware of our schemes. We caught them off guard, and managed to free the war criminals that started it all,’’ Gregory said. Christophe scoffed, and Gregory paused, staring back at him.</p><p>‘’I know, idiot, I led ‘ze rescue squad,’’ Christophe said. Gregory knew that, but having Christophe acknowledge it was just making it easier to get what he wanted in the end. Gregory knew exactly what he was doing. He’s been doing this for years.</p><p>‘’So you did, and it was an unfortunate accident that we were less well equipped with better soldiers like yourself, maybe we might’ve ended things then and there. But we did not, and severe re-evaluations had to be made. We had to fool the leaders that they beat us, even if we were under their noses growing support and strength the further time progressed. It was all leading up to this glorious moment, where I would supervise and orchestrate a magnificent espionage attack using soldiers with the exceptional skill like yourself, to once and for all smite upon the pig fuckers that threw our world into chaos!’’ Gregory announced, hitting his fist hard onto the table. He took a moment to breathe, exhaling through his nose and sitting up in a dignified posture. He wasn’t meant to get so passionate, but he got like that when he started preaching about topics that affected him profoundly. Christophe was still smoking, peering at Gregory with a slightly impressed face, or maybe pitying. Suddenly Gregory needed a cigarette himself, and eyed Christophe’s.</p><p>‘’May I?’’ Gregory asked, gesturing to the cigarette loosely clamped between Christophe’s fingers.</p><p>‘’Eh?’’ Christophe asked, glancing at his cigarette with a confused look. Gregory reached across the table and swiped it from him, putting it to his lips as he looked at Christophe’s expression of shock. He slightly coughed out a laugh as Christophe continued to stare with an openly astounded face, and sucked in the smoke into his lungs. He wasn’t used to speaking this emotionally with anyone. He hadn’t needed to since he was a young lad, before his father’s alcoholism, and his mother’s stress disorder had affected enough of his life to require intense adjustments. Being alone was one of the things he had to live with, and friends didn’t make the cut into his new lifestyle on the war front. He fought, for life, not socialisation, and he’s been going well ever since. He led soldiers, he inspired his lessors to fight for his rebellion, and he survived. The intensity of his thoughts sometimes escapes him, leaked out in repressed rage as a result of the presence of vulnerability intense people like this Frenchman before him. Though no one had actually pulled this out of him before.</p><p>‘’You smoke,’’ Christophe said, not exactly poised as a question, but just surprise that he did. Gregory shrugged, taking another drag and blowing it out away from the table.</p><p>‘’It’s the fucking war, we’re not vape smoking pussies up here,’’ Gregory said.</p><p>‘’Ack, I hate them,’’ Christophe said, turning his head away when he seemed to realise he said that, agreeing with Gregory. Gregory sniffed.</p><p>‘’Anyways,’’ Gregory, suddenly lacking anything to say. What was he talking about again? Christophe glanced at the cigarette in his hand, and Gregory passed it back, watching as Christophe sighed when he had it between his lips again. So he was the real deal chain-smoker. Gregory was pretty impressed, honestly, if only for his unique tact these Americans couldn’t grasp if they tried.</p><p>‘’What does ‘zis espionage plan entail?’’ Christophe asked. Gregory was beyond grateful that he seemed to shrug off that moment, then just surprised with himself. Professionalism was key, he needed to keep it in mind.</p><p>‘’We are going to be infiltrating Washington’s largest base, where our intel has deduced that the Americans are holding the infamous war criminals. Using the tunnels, my team has been working to decipher where they are located, and to our happy advantage, it happens to cross right underneath their daily holding cells. My men have done well in their research, and now my design is ready to be put into action. All I need, is you,’’ Gregory said, pointing at Christophe. Christophe was frowning in thought.</p><p>‘’And which personnel would accompany us on ‘zis ‘mission’ of yours?’’ Christophe asked.</p><p>‘’I have two trained strategists adept in this kind of work, having done it before. You might have met them before,’’ Gregory said. Christophe snorted, blowing smoke in a thin line.</p><p>‘’You mean those two co-dependent catamites who failed to introduce me to ‘ze plan earlier?’’ Christophe asked. Gregory nodded, snickering, a little impressed he caught that, after only one meeting. His senior strategists, Stan and Kyle, wore their war skill badges with pride, but their continued adoration for their counterpart was never a hiding flaw of their work. In awkward moments, he has caught them before, in their long history of working together. It got irritating at times, but overall they were valuable, and Gregory appreciated their long continued loyalty to his cause.</p><p>‘’They will be present as the collection squadron when we secure the prisoners, but the rescue team will consist of you, and I.’’</p><p>‘’I still haven’t agreed, understand,’’ Christophe said, narrowing his eyes.</p><p>‘’Of course, of course. I’m just talking, and you’re surely aware that I’ve relayed so much vital planning to you that at this point, you can either accept, or I’ll be forced to neutralise you as a threat to my operation,’’ Gregory warned, aiming his serious expression at Christophe to intend that he was not fucking around here. It didn’t matter how goddamn invaluable Christophe was if he proved to threaten the mission Greg has worked so many years to perfect. So what came next was even more surprising. Christophe stared, and slowly started laughing, getting stronger and louder as he pounded his fists on the metal table. Gregory widened his eyes.</p><p>‘’I fail to understand what’s so hilarious,’’ Gregory said, crossing his arms in annoyance.</p><p>‘’You know what, Gregory of Yardale? I’m impressed, I don’t think I’ve ever received 'zat threat and been sure you would absolutely have no hesitation to follow through. So I’m impressed. But 'zat threat is so empty to me, that I could offer to kill myself to save 'ze fucking trouble,’’ Christophe said, amusement thick in his tone. Gregory leaned forward, pressing his hands on the cold table, and staring at Christophe with a thin smile.</p><p>‘’Such a tough weary man, doesn’t care about his own life over a life changing opportunity. I envy you, really. All the carefree time in the world to pity your sad life and what could’ve been if mother wanted you, and father wasn’t a dirty cheater. Why, I imagine if I didn’t kill my own father, I would’ve spent the last ten years moping in filthy little trenches to avoid reality too, I would’ve. But what I envy from you, dear Mole, is that you still managed to pone your skill in this festering pit of self-pity you’ve created for yourself. What I’m offering is salvation. I’m going to give you rein in having another chance, getting redemption for you regret you couldn’t complete the last time, all those years ago in Viva La Resistance,’’ Gregory smiled at Christophe’s look or horror. ‘’Yes, Christophe, I’m aware of all of your exploits in the war efforts. I know everything. Your failures, your regrets. Everything you torture yourself about now, and what you secretly wish you could do over. I’m not going to baby you, I’m not going to flatter you. I’m going to give you the harsh cold truth, because that’s what I do, and I don’t train or work with pussies. I’m offering you a chance, Christophe, the question now is. Do you fucking accept?’’</p><p>Gregory held his hand out over the table, keeping his face strong and determined, not faltering as Christophe sat staring at his gloved hand. Moments passed, and Christophe spat out his cigarette on the floor, and promptly grabbed Gregory’s arm, holding it back with a strong fierce grip. Gregory exchanged a second of wordless agreement with Christophe, seeing his eyes and knowing this was it. This was the real time. They weren’t fucking around anymore.</p><p>Gregory nodded solemnly, and said with finality, ‘’Welcome back to Viva La Resistance. Partner.’’</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oh butternuts, it's been left since april?? Jeez, I'm prize scum aren't I?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Christophe couldn’t believe he actually shook that prick’s hand. He couldn’t believe he made a pact of loyalty with the fucking resistance. He was so sure he’d refuse.</p><p>But alas, he could never resist passionate speech making. It appealed to his poor dramatic heart too much, and Gregory fucking knew it. He fucking knew it was his weakness, he could tell. He fucking played him, and now Christophe had nothing to do but tip his cap, undeniably impressed.</p><p>But there was being impressed, and being emotionally tricked into pursuing a useless mission Gregory thought was clever. It was clever, certainly, even Christophe was impressed with it. But it didn’t mean there was any chance of it working. This whole operation was a lost cause, there was nothing bright British poms with slicked hair could do to change that.</p><p>But maybe it would be amusing to watch. At least, maybe he could stick around to gaze upon their undoing. What else had he to do? Except dig fucking trenches. Ugh.</p><p>Trying to figure out what to do was a battle, and Christophe debated with himself as Gregory escorted him princess-like (he thought so) out of the soppy conference room. He walked ahead, leading Christophe through hallways from whence they came, while Christophe tried to decide whether to hate him. As much as he hated to admit it, he quite admired the pommie bastard. It took serious balls to admit murder of one’s own father, especially under those shitty circumstances. But whatever, he wasn’t that impressive for doing it. Christophe would’ve if he had thought of it. He tortured himself afterwards, but it was never his instinct at the time. At the time, all he could think of was his own survival, not vengeance. He’d never wanted to kill him, he didn’t love his mother. And she certainly hated him.</p><p>‘’You’ll find this operation is top secret. Nobody but the highest clearance even knows about it. That’s for our security. That’s why we had to make sure you’d agree before we even told you the plan,’’ Gregory explained, walking ahead like a supermodel. Christophe grunted, not bothering responding. Gregory probably knew he was trapped, and anything he said would be pointless. They were basically using him, and he fucking fell for it. He’d be more disgusted if he disliked Gregory, whom he was weirdly growing more respect for than he should.</p><p>‘’You’ll need to introduce yourself to the rest of our operation, for our security measures,’’ Gregory continued.</p><p>‘’Ze gay bitches who led me to you,’’ Christophe said, remembering them. He couldn’t actually care to memorise their details, because at the time he was more focused on brooding miserably at the state of the world.</p><p>‘’I’m certainly surprised you picked up on that,’’ Gregory said with a little smile.</p><p>‘’What? Your crones fuck ‘ze dicks up each other’s asses off duty?’’ Christophe snorted.</p><p>‘’And sometimes on duty,’’ Gregory replied, equal parts distaste and amusement thick in his tone.</p><p>‘’What did I say? I did say it was ‘ze faggot camp,’’ Christophe said, wondering where the bitches had sex in this horrible building. Surely not the hallways.</p><p>‘’Oh please, I think you know as well as I do the difference between fucking arses, and faggotry,’’ Gregory said, turning his head to glance at Christophe, who raised his eyebrows.</p><p>‘’Oh? Explain it then please, enculé? Poor little Christophe had no time to go to school and learn ‘ze liberal gay fuckery.’’</p><p>‘’Oh fuck off man. I know you do, better than you think,’’ Gregory said.</p><p>‘’You do not, you assuming pigshit. You know nothing about me,’’ Christophe said, feeling his stomach plunge into depths of slow growing horror. Maybe Gregory did know him. Maybe he knew everything. What did Christophe know?</p><p>‘’Yes, well. Here we are anyway, so let’s drop it for now,’’ Gregory sighed, walking on.</p><p>‘’It’s not up to you, pompous asswipe pigfucker,’’ Christophe scowled, hunching into himself. Gregory didn’t deign a response, smartly, and brought Christophe back to the large circulating room they were introduced, buzzing with ants of war. Or what those pussies thought they were doing pushing pencils around and shoving them up their asses when they got bored.</p><p>Gregory whistled with his fingers, drawing the attention of the room, pausing in their pointless pacing.</p><p>‘’Lieutenant Marsh and Broflovski, report to me immediately,’’ Gregory called out, and signalled for the others to resume ‘working’. They waited as the two blokes from earlier made themselves present before Gregory, looking less strict now than earlier.</p><p>‘’At ease,’’ Gregory said, though these fuckers weren’t saluting or anything. Christophe didn’t know if that was a comment on their laziness and disrespect, or Gregory’s pompous ass.</p><p>‘’Lieutenant Delorne has agreed to fight for our cause, so you will need to brief him at o six hundred hours in preparation. You will be given briefings yourself about the espionage, which we will proceed tomorrow. Thank you Lieutenants, that will be all.’’</p><p>Marsh and Broflovski exchanged a look, then nodded to Gregory and left their sight. Christophe was stuck in paralysis at what he heard- completely dumbfounded.</p><p>Gregory went on unnoticed and led him through the building- until they were in the halls again. They were empty now.</p><p>‘’So you’ll see your own quarters up ahead. We can’t have you staying at a whore house away from here when you’re needed at dawn.’’</p><p>Christophe twitched.</p><p>‘’H-how did you know?’’ Christophe muttered, blinking at the ground. Gregory gave him a long stare, raising his eyebrows.</p><p>‘’Know what?’’</p><p>‘’My name,’’ Christophe said almost soundlessly under his breath. His hands tightened into fists.</p><p>‘’Excuse me?’’ Gregory asked.</p><p>Christophe yelled and pushed Gregory back, who fell against the wall in surprise. Christophe pinned him there and seethed in his face. ‘’My name! My last name! How ‘ze fuck did you know it!’’</p><p>Gregory widened his eyes as Christophe breathed heavily, handily holding him there against the wall. Christophe wondered what it would take to physically break this brat. He couldn’t be that strong. Then his attention sharpened at the sight of Gregory laughing, relaxing against the wall where he pinned him.</p><p>‘’<em>Imbécile ignorant</em>, you think our records don’t hold everything about you? Your little escapades are forever recorded in our files. You last name was exactly the same as last time you joined our cause- wasn’t it <em>petit</em>?’’ Gregory smiled easily, looking infuriatingly amused by Christophe’s anger. ‘’That’s not even the worst thing we have on you.’’</p><p>‘’Shut up- don’t speak to me! I can’t look at your face,’’ Christophe spat. To his own surprise, Gregory easily flipped him around with a strength that came out of nowhere. Before he knew it, he was being pinned to the wall, being forced to look at Gregory’s smug grinning face. Christophe growled at him, not appreciating this discovery that he could be overpowered.</p><p>‘’You know nothing Christophe. You’ve spent much too long digging underground, you don’t know what it is to live anymore. You don’t know how the rest of the world has adjusted. You’re not the biggest threat anymore boy. Let me show you who is,’’ Gregory said, his voice smooth and sharp like a knife. He grabbed Christophe’s collar, and leaned over him. Christophe suddenly felt short. He hated that.</p><p>‘’<em>Va te faire foutre</em>,’’ Christophe hissed. Gregory did his stupid little eyebrow raise again.</p><p>‘’First thing you need to know about this mission- that will not change,’’ Gregory said, ripping away from him and shoving him backwards. He gave Christophe a dark look before straightening himself. ‘’I do the fucking.’’</p><p>**</p><p>Christophe was slightly disgusted by the room he was provided. A room, clean and stark with white linens and a single bedside table. It was disgustingly clean. Christophe felt like slinging shit all over the walls just to make some kind of statement that he wasn’t some deranged zoo animal waiting to be used for their missions.</p><p>He would leave the place later to collect some clothes and some of his shit, they couldn’t actually keep him hostage here. He only had a bag in total of belongings anyway- for safety reasons if he ever had to just pack up and leave. Like if they dropped bombs in the rockies or something.</p><p>Christophe couldn’t spend more than two minutes in his prison cell after discovering it, and slipped out with his cigarettes as soon as he could discern he wasn’t being watch or recorded in the room. There were no guards outside his door, which probably should have given him more assurance, but it only made him feel personally cautious and slightly victimised. This place was such a heaping pile of dogshit.</p><p>He took the time to investigate and memorise the area he was habited- just in case the barbarians decided to lock him in there. He didn’t understand why him of all the go-lucky asslickers of the army couldn’t do for him. Gregory said only <em>he</em> could help with his expertise. Like he was some veteran war hero. But that was such bullshit, even he could see it. Gregory in general tended to have a two-fold effect on him, in that he hated his Pomeranian smug ass to the point he’d enjoy watching him get attacked by fucking dogs. But he also hated him in the fact that the man was so impressive in his whole person that Christophe was still in this easily escapable lie of a camp, and willing to see just where this pathetic mission of his might go.</p><p>He’d seen enough of the Brit’s face today, all that fucking gelled up hair and shiny blue eyes, so he hoped he wouldn’t cross him when he went out. He just needed air, fresh filthy outdoor war air. No clean people in sight.</p><p>The ‘camp’ certainly provided that. What with the now working hours concluded, marked man’s discovery of toxic alcohol washed down their pig throats, and merry songs and jokes that Christophe scoffed at and sneered if he heard. Which was his entire life, so he had much sneering yet to do.</p><p>The officers that hung around the fires of the outside to avoid the cold, or those who refused to succumb to the anger of their hysterical wives, were crowded around the flames like moths to a lamp. Christophe stuck to the shadows to avoid them, wondering if Gregory would bump down his superior position to have night time conversations with his lowers. Probably not. The bastard probably had private rooms installed for himself so he could finish sucking off his own dick in congratulations, followed with expensive brandy or wine. The bitch looked like a wine man.</p><p>Sick of wasting brain capacity on him any longer today, Christophe grabbed out his cigarette and took time to light it up in the shadows, leaning against the wall of one of the base buildings. Pssh, buildings. A spoilt excuse of a resistance, this place was a sham at best. Where fake fucking soldiers sat around all day and pretended they were fighting a cause just to avoid the real army, where men from every household where being implored to join and fight against Canada.</p><p>The world was dreary through the gaze of a cigarette, and most days this was the most Christophe could handle. They were the most he could handle right now, thinking about the way he was tricked through his anger, and the way Gregory slammed him back against the wall like he was waiting for the chance to show him just how powerful he could really be. Just how weak Christophe could suddenly be against him.</p><p>The idea that it could be true gave him chills, though it wasn’t like him to care about masculinity tests comparing strength and power like a bunch of gorillas fighting for a lonely female whore. He spent his life avoiding smucks like that. And suddenly he was seriously pissed off that Gregory had the balls to do that, and even gave him that intensely smirking wildness in his eyes, like he was even daring him to fight back. Like the fucker assumed he needed to be put in his place. Fucking asshole was going to be murdered one day, and hopefully Christophe would do the murdering, returning that wild look to know that no one was allowed to overpower him without his permission. He’d do it, mark his words.</p><p>Christophe blowed a long trail of black smoke out, glancing around him in the darkness. He didn’t expect to catch eyes staring back at him from the shadows. A barely there silhouette of lips, connecting to a bottle neck, and back down again with a sigh and familiar glug of liquid splashing in a bottle.</p><p>‘’You’re new here,’’ the voice observed, teeth clinking against the bottle.</p><p>‘’eh?’’</p><p>Christophe took another drag and stared. The silhouette fell out of the dark and into the light, and smirked. Christophe recognised his devious face immediately, from earlier. His blonde hair was nearly as annoying as Gregory’s, though no where near as polished and assholish. It was nearly as messy as Christophe’s though.</p><p>‘’I said you’re new here. Haven’t seen you around,’’ the blonde man repeated. Christophe didn’t respond, annoyed this man was paying him attention. He was in the shadows of night in the camp for a reason. ‘’You a soldier?’’</p><p>Christophe sniffed in disgust at the idea. ‘’Non.’’</p><p>The man crept out further, and joined by Christophe’s spot leaning on the wall. Christophe grunted at him, who apparently went unnoticed and continued glugging from his bottle of beer.</p><p>‘’You must be in the secret closed up sector of the base right? You look like that kind of dude.’’</p><p>‘’What is it to you?’’ Christophe grumbled. Ironically, supreme dickhead Gregory never mentioned the contract of confidentiality. The asshole probably assumed Christophe spoke to no one else. Well fuck him.</p><p>‘’I’m just curious, you know. I’m meant to be driving out a convey come morning. Ha, my superiors gave me fuck all information, just some vague location I assume shit is going down in. You wouldn’t happen to be apart of that, would you?’’</p><p>‘’You’re a driver eh?’’</p><p>‘’Depends,’’ the man shrugged. ‘’I do what they tell me, sometimes that involves driving. You smoking? You mind if I bum one?’’</p><p>Christophe looked down at the cigarette he referred to in his hand. He was slightly animalistic about the concept of sharing them, but with this man’s unassuming expression he was disarmed. He gruffly handed one out from his pants pocket, and the man took it with a wink.</p><p>‘’No need to pass me a light. I’ve got demon powers, after all,’’ the man smiled, clamping the cigarette in his mouth and digging through his jacket pocket. Christophe scoffed again and looked away, not interested in pursuing a conversation.</p><p>‘’Name’s Kenneth, but you may call me Kenny,’’ the man smiled once he light up his cigarette with a lighter, no apparent demon powers in use. Christophe didn’t respond.</p><p>‘’Sir, it’s nice to respond with your own name when someone offers theirs,’’ Kenny said, then laughed. ‘’Right miserable bastard aren’t you? Who’s fucking your ass to keep your secrets quiet?’’</p><p>‘’Eh? What ‘ze fuck,’’ Christophe remarked, blowing out and grimacing over the mental image. Kenny was still near, apparently helping himself to a less than willing smoking partner for the night. Kenny sighed.</p><p>‘’Yeah, well. I guess everyone knows your name don’t they? <em>‘Ze Mole</em>,’’ Kenny chuckled, affecting his voice to sound French. Christophe whipped around to face him in shock.</p><p>‘’What? Why do you bitches know my name?’’ Christophe asked in anger.</p><p>‘’Seriously? It’s all people have talked about. Boss man Commander Gregory of Yardale calling in one of the oldest ex-soldiers to fight. Created an uproar- I hear,’’ Kenny said, tasoting his cigarette before smoking it again.</p><p>‘’Why has your base been told of me?’’ Christophe asked urgently, panicking a little. Not more than necessary, fuck off. Kenny stared at him, giving him an eyebrow raise that reminded him considerably of Gregory. It felt like a bull getting a taunting red flag waved in its face. Christophe seethed, to say the least.</p><p>‘’Dude, they call you our saving grace. Surely you’ve also heard of the Resistance’s failing attempts to rectify itself after that pathetic rescue attempt. I fought in that too you know. I just wasn’t really- you know, ‘physically present’, if you know what I mean.’’</p><p>Christophe certainly did not, and just sniffed a response. He would be speaking to pompous Gregory fuckface when he saw him. Actually, fuck that. He would go right now.</p><p>‘’Excuse, <em>camarade</em>. There is something I must do,’’ Christophe said, stepping away.</p><p>‘’It’s cool dude. I’ll see you tomorrow anyways. Thanks for the smoke.’’</p><p>Christophe nodded and left without another word, deciding he didn’t mind Kenneth, despite his annoyingly universal presence.</p><p>Butting out his smoke on the hard earth, Christophe stalked back to the main building he was caged earlier, certain that Gregory would be housed like the princess he was somewhere there.</p><p>The inside seemed even more daunting than earlier, like a maze of everything he hated combined into the ultimate chamber of torture. It was hypnotising, searching through the stark hallways as though he’d suddenly stumble upon what he was looking for. And the poor fucking joke that occurred to him was that he actually did. He started trying doors in this more open expanse, finding empty rooms with the same blandness his own had.</p><p>When he checked the last one at the end of the hallway, the furthest away, he was only checking to be thorough. He was not expecting to see Gregory in the flesh- the literal flesh, shirtless on his bed reading over papers. Gregory glanced up in surprise.</p><p>‘’Christophe?’’ Gregory said. Christophe remembered he was angry, and stepped into the room- not wanting any-fucking-body else knowing about his affairs. He’d felt like his secrets and life were on display all day, and he was sorely regretting not bashing those messengers over the head with his shovel while he had the chance not to attend this shitshow.</p><p>‘’I bet you fucking know why I’m here,’’ Christophe spat.</p><p>‘’No, actually,’’ Gregory sniffed, looking Christophe up and down. ‘’If this is about mission related concerns, I’m sure you can relay them in the morning, like everyone else.’’</p><p>‘’Why are telling people about me eh? Is ‘ze shitshow here so bad you bitches need <em>confidentiel</em> information exposed to entertain ‘ze shit slinging gorillas of your troupe?’’</p><p>Gregory stared for a while, and Christophe supposed he caught him at a slow moment, which was even better. The prick had nothing perfect about him.</p><p>‘’What would you like me to say, Mr Delorne? We know everything about you? Yes, we do. You offered that information years ago, so we’re allowed to collect it for the greater uses of our cause. You haven’t forgotten that have you?’’ Gregory asked.</p><p>‘’Your fucking causes. And your fucking heroism. I’ve had enough of ‘zis shit. I didn’t sign up to get sucked back into ‘zis fucking zoo cage of torment. Fuck ‘ze war, and fuck you!’’ Christophe turned to the door, feeling a fit of his anger just controlling his mind. He didn’t need it, they weren’t forcing him.</p><p>‘’For such a smart man, you’re quite stupid aren’t you Mole?’’ Gregory said from in the room when he opened the door. Christophe halted at his words, the anger turning back around.</p><p>‘’Eh?’’</p><p>Gregory stood up from his plain bed- just like the others, and put his papers down. He was still in uniform aside from the shirtlessness, which was distracting in that the man looked so posh and perfect either way. He could be covered in shit and would still hold himself up.</p><p>‘’This place is dying. You predicted it, it’s true. Nothing else about it. La Resistance is dying, so sad. Oh well. I’m trying to save it now, by destroying the other sides. Our whole goal from the start was to free the war criminals. It’s only lucky the US government hasn’t nuked their brains back to Nova Scotia, but that only works to our adventage. My men are too much imbeciles to pull off such a complicated mission. That why I recruited you man. So you can either go back to your trench digging and be pathetic, do nothing at all and die where you are, or do something that makes a difference, and gives you something to fight for again. I know you lost it- fucking take it back damn you.’’</p><p>‘’You always have ‘ze right inspirational words to say don’t you?’’ Christophe sneered, after a moment of silent contemplation.</p><p>‘’One needs it, in this position,’’ Gregory scoffed. Christophe should have left then, but he stared after Gregory, just watching him. Gregory pulled out a drawer and retrieved a bottle of brandy, hoisting it up. ‘’You man, look like you haven’t had a drink in literal years.’’</p><p>Christophe stared when Gregory poured two glasses of brandy and held on out for him, sipping the other and waiting with an expectant look.</p><p>Christophe should have refused. He barely liked the taste.</p><p>‘’Fine,’’ he said, grabbing the glass and scarfing it down. Gregory smirked.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yours truly, updating inconsistently, one fic at a time.</p><p>Enjoy yourselves some nice old war au.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>The dawn rose slowly, sifting the shadows away from the floor of the room, shaving away the darkness for the light.</p><p>Gregory watched the soft light dance around the floor in the morning, blinking and lost and thoughts that meant nothing and couldn’t be understood. His side was warm, and it took him a few moments to remember last night.</p><p>Christophe wasn’t an experienced drinker. To Gregory’s surprise, it only took a few glasses of brandy for Christophe to pass out, and now here he was sleeping in Gregory’s bed, softly snoring and pressed against his back. Gregory wasn’t in much a mood to mind, but he’d have to get up soon in preparation of shipping out. Usually he rose just before dawn, but he’d probably one too many glasses of brandy himself.</p><p>The dust motes in the room illuminated through the small window overhead in the room. Gregory wasn’t a fan of grandness while he was working. He’d enjoy the domestic comforts of life once they war is over, but for now these rooms needed to be used, to save resources. Last night, Christophe came in yelling suddenly just as Gregory was ready to rest, overly dramatic and grumpy in a way that Gregory rather pitied. He still swore profusely to Gregory after two glasses, but one more and he was cackling hysterically over the useless staff manning the buildings. Gregory quite enjoyed that side of him, remembering now how he’d forgotten to direct him safely back to his room.</p><p>It did tend to get cold in here at night. So Christophe apparently didn’t need any more convincing, and passed out drunk into Gregory’s sheets. It will likely disturb or even traumatise Christophe when he wakes up to find himself in the bed of his ‘enemy’, but that’s a matter for later.</p><p>Gregory finally decided he had to start being productive. He usually only gave himself 30 seconds to wake up before springing out for the day. He just didn’t want to disrupt Mole in his violent sleep. He’d kicked a few times in the night.</p><p>Suavely, Gregory extracted himself from the bed and Christophe’s body heat, getting up quietly and heading over to get changed. He glanced at Christophe once more. His dark muddy hair was strewn across the pillow and over his face like burnt hay. It was almost endearing.</p><p>Gregory changed quickly and quietly, throwing on a white singlet over his naked chest, his jacket over the singlet. His shoes would have to wait while Christophe took residence on the bed, so Gregory started on his hair, combing it back into pristine neatness.</p><p>He was adding his gel when Christophe woke. It started with a few low grunts and groans of a hangover, not knowing where he was yet. Gregory didn’t bother turning to him yet, his head would only be bitten off. He just continued attending to himself.</p><p>The grumbles inevitably fell silent when Christophe was no doubt looking out into the room and finding Gregory standing there. Horror probably growing, wild thoughts and assumptions sprouting into his poor distressed head. Gregory let him wallow a little longer.</p><p>‘’Ah,’’ Christophe finally said, softly enough to not be heard, though Gregory’s ears were finetuned.</p><p>‘’Good morning Lieutenant Delorne,’’ Gregory announced, finally turning to face him.  He’d forgotten he’d taken Christophe out of his overshirt before he’d passed out, but now Christophe’s bare chest didn’t look any hotter than it did pathetic, along with the blatant soft shock on his face. Gregory hadn’t expected that out of the strong willed man.</p><p>‘’Gregory- how,’’ Christophe spoke in a deep sleepy gravel, still seemingly confused, a vague horror growing on his face.</p><p>‘’You had a few too many brandy’s last night soldier. I’ll admit it was rather ill-planned of me to offer alcohol the night before an enlistment. But you can rest assured your spell conjured no humiliation to either party, no reckless bodily harm, and no sexual innuendo or action. And you fell asleep safely in the late night in this bed where no further action was taken in your inebriation.’’</p><p>Gregory awaited Christophe’s response, half expecting a flustered rebuke of the possibilities he listed. Again, he found himself surprised that Christophe puffed down from his shock after hearing what happened, looking like he could give two shits about what Gregory could have done to him if he was any other man. Gregory was impressed.</p><p>‘’Ah, I’m not adept with hard liquors anymore <em>mon ami</em>,’’ Christophe said, yawning. ‘’Nicotine fuels my core nowadays.’’</p><p>‘’I gathered your co-dependancy on tobacco,’’ Gregory smiled.</p><p>‘’You speak like ‘ze pompous asswipe so much sometimes- do you not get bored of it?’’ Christophe wondered, rubbing his eyes and scratching his mess of hair.</p><p>‘’Préférez-vous que je parle français, Christophe?’’ Gregory asked, smirking.</p><p>‘’Please enfoiré, piss off with your French language skills. I get it,’’ Christophe scoffed. ‘’Why am I shirtless?’’</p><p>‘’I removed it before you passed out,’’ Gregory said. He walked over to where he’d folded it up, and handed it back to Christophe. ‘’I suppose you’d like to rechange.’’</p><p>‘’I’ll do it later,’’ Christophe muttered, putting the shirt back on over his head. Gregory forgot to glance away.</p><p>‘’So you didn’t even try to molest poor little Christophe eh?’’ Christophe looked back at Gregory. Gregory scoffed out a laugh.</p><p>‘’Rest assured I’d make sure you’re sober if I decided to molest poor little Mole,’’ Gregory teased. ‘’it’s more fun that way.’’</p><p>Christophe laughed again, like he’d done in the lateness of last night, but less drunk now and more sincere. Gregory smiled at him, deciding he preferred when he wasn’t such a world weary depressed Frenchman all the time. They’d have to leave soon and get ready to part with camp on the journey through to Washington.</p><p>‘’I met a driver last night before coming here. He said he was a demon,’’ Christophe said, standing up from the bed. Gregory took the opportunity to sit on the bed and tie up his shoes.</p><p>‘’Oh?’’</p><p>‘’Oui, he’s ‘ze one who shared with me my apparent fame in ‘zis camp.’’</p><p>‘’Ah, I see. Surely you’re not sore about that? If anything the knowledge of your arrival has boosted morale in a way nothing else has recently,’’ Gregory said, lacing his boots tight.</p><p>‘’How pathetic must have you been doing if I was ‘ze most impressive thing happening?’’ Christophe laughed.</p><p>‘’I’ve told you that already. La Resistance is dwindling these days. I’m sorry to enlist you again Mole- I know you never believed in us,’’ Gregory said, saying the last part quieter. Christophe stared at him, arms twitching at his sides. Then he sighed and sat on the bed beside Gregory, grabbing for his own shoes and putting them on.</p><p>‘’I used to have faith in your cause Gregory,’’ Christophe said, tying up his laces tightly. ‘’I’m sure your precious records know that. But I learnt ‘ze first time that God doesn’t let good people with good morals get away in life. There is only suffering for their poor souls. Like mine.’’</p><p>‘’I don’t believe in god,’’ Gregory said.</p><p>‘’Good for you mon ami, you’re better than everyone else,’’ Christophe said, actually sincerely. ‘’ Maybe he won’t strike you down in your sleep like he has me.’’</p><p>‘’You’re quite dramatic Mole,’’ Gregory pointed out. ‘’I’d say no one has self-pity greater than yours in this camp.’’</p><p>‘’Those fairies out there have never even seen a war. ‘Zis atrocity of a base just makes them feel important while they hide away like scared kittens away from ‘ze real fighting. They’re all pussies,’’ Christophe sneered.</p><p>‘’Suppose that makes me a pussy too?’’ Gregory asked, raising his eyebrows. Christophe smirked and stood up. Gregory’s eyes followed Christophe’s as he stood above him, leaning over him with a dark smile. He grabbed Gregory’s collar and pulled him forward. Gregory willingly came forward.</p><p>‘’You, <em>bébé garçon</em>, are ‘ze biggest pussy in ‘zis entire resistance.’’ Christophe bared his teeth in a wickedly dark grin, his face close enough for Gregory to smell the brandy, and the permanent lingering scent of ash and smoke.</p><p>‘’Are you challenging me soldier?’’ Gregory asked lowly, a seductive threat buried in his tone. He watched Christophe’s eyes, changing. Pupil’s darkness overcoming the iris, spreading black.</p><p>‘’What would such a femme man be capable of eh?’’ Christophe snarled deeper, his fist tight around Gregory’s shirt. ‘’Show me.’’</p><p>Gregory had hoped he’d ask.</p><p>Military training was something Christophe had refused to consider possible to ascend to Gregory’s level. He stubbornly denied it, and now moments like these Gregory got to feel appropriately smug and superior. Christophe had world experience, yes. But Gregory was specially trained for this.</p><p>Taking no time, he was able to flip an angry Christophe over like a flick, pinning him over the bed and holding him down. Christophe kicked wildly, cursing, and Gregory straddled him to hold him still, effectively stopping his fitting, but keeping the desirable black look in Christophe’s eyes.</p><p>‘’Ah, Mole- you’ve gotten weak in your time away,’’ Gregory chuckled, now the one leaning over him.</p><p>‘’Oh- fuck you!’’ Christophe spat.</p><p>‘’What will you do about it <em>Delorne</em>,’’ Gregory taunted, remembering his hissy fit about his name last night. ‘’Your captor has you pinned- and there’s no escape. Because you aren’t trained for it. You only know how to dig nowadays- don’t you <em>pauvre homme</em>?’’</p><p>‘’Come any closer and I bite,’’ Christophe warned. Gregory smiled sadistically over him, kind of thrilled.</p><p>‘’Whoever, dear Mole, said that was a bad thing?’’ Gregory said, close enough again to smell the cigarettes. Christophe seemingly only then understood the double entendre, eyes widening. Gregory was surprised himself, he thought they were both very aware.</p><p>‘’What-‘’ Christophe looked unbelievably ignorant just then, his sudden innocence even baffling Gregory. He released Christophe and let him crawl off the bed, still holding that boyish shocked expression. Huh.</p><p>‘’You- don’t?’’ Gregory had words to continue with, but couldn’t remember them in that awkward moment. Like- you don’t understand? You’re not interested? What are you? A fucking virgin or something?</p><p>‘’You preek,’’ Christophe suddenly snarled, look of innocence dissolved. ‘’Go fuck your desperate guards. They’re begging you to.’’ And just like that, Christophe was storming out of the room in a pout, stomping dramatically.</p><p>Gregory looked around the room, still sitting on the bed. It did feel slightly pathetic right now. He needed to pack his overnight that was currently sitting on the only chair in the room. He pictured those pitch black eyes again, both looking down at him and up at him. Gregory couldn’t contain a smile. Christophe may be a dense stubborn idiot, but he wanted something there. Gregory would find it.</p><p>They had a whole mission, after all.</p><p>**</p><p>Gregory didn’t expect to find Christophe there on time when they reported to station beside their allotted vehicle. His secondary surprise was usefully masked with professional indifference when he supervised over each check on the list of inventory. Each of the team’s essential survival packs of clothes and utilities were already on board. Gregory had confirmed at Christophe had already checked in his overnight bag. To his surprise again.</p><p>Lieutenant Marsh and Broflovski dutifully stood beside him and they affirmed everything was in place for the espionage. They’d be taking a jeep truck on the journey to Washington, big enough to be properly equipped, but small enough to be inconspicuous to suspicion. The driver was already at the wheel, awaiting Gregory’s last check and command. Gregory had to prepare himself for being less dictorship, and more comrade for this mission. Five men in a convey together in a long trip, would be intolerable if Gregory had to be on duty the entire time. He could only the imagine how hard it was going to be already containing his second’s in command carnal desire. He made sure to split them up from sitting together first shift.</p><p>‘’The first shift will a four hour allotment, where we will stop in the local town for breaks and restocking,’’ Gregory announced to his Lieutenants and Christophe. Kenneth already had a schedule to follow, so he needn’t have the induction. ‘’I will be attending the first shift at the front with driver, Marsh you take left, Broflovski right,’’ Gregory turned to Christophe, staring. Christophe tightened his jaw and glared. ‘’Christophe, you’ll go middle.’’</p><p>‘’Yes sir,’’ Marsh said. Gregory directed them to board, satisfied everything has been attended to. Marsh hopped into the convey, and Broflovski waited for Christophe, holding the door.</p><p>‘’Four hours,’’ Christophe said slowly, turned his splitting scowl to Gregory. ‘’I require to smoke within that allotted time.’’</p><p>‘’No smoking in the car,’’ Gregory said sternly.</p><p>‘’Listen here pommie, if I don’t have my cigarettes-‘’ Christophe growled.</p><p>‘’You’ll what? <em>Bite me</em>?’’ Gregory smirked, and watched smugly as Christophe reddened and grit his teeth.</p><p>‘’You’d like that wouldn’t you London,’’ Christophe grumbled.</p><p>‘’Oh but not as much as you Notre Dame,’’ Gregory quipped. ‘’<em>Drooling for it</em> is not a common vocabulary I use, but-‘’</p><p>‘’Fuck off,’’ Christophe spat, stalking ahead and getting into the jeep. Gregory smirked after him, then joined the car and placed himself in the front seat. The base had a large metal gate for convoys, and they faced the exit on the dirt road, looking out into the surrounding nothing that isolated the camp.</p><p>‘’Right to proceed soldier,’’ Gregory directed to Kenneth, who nodded and turned the keys for the car to start up.</p><p>‘’Onward boys,’’ Kenneth announced when they drove to the outer gate, the long winding road that would eventually cross to a main road to officially begin the journey. ‘’How about some music?’’</p><p>‘’That would be cool,’’ Marsh said from the back. Gregory glanced around to the back, finding Marsh and Broflovski shifting to either door, and a completely miserable looking Mole between them, legs and arms tightly knit together as if touching anything more than necessary would kill him. He made an obscene gesture to Gregory when he stared, and Gregory took the queue to look back ahead.</p><p>‘’Music is fine,’’ Gregory confirmed to Kenny, perfectly certain they wouldn’t select his own classical tastes. But to keep the team’s morale up and high, anything was the answer in such a confined space.</p><p>Kenny turned on the radio, and kept flicking until he found Spanish singing, and let the jolly music play through the car.</p><p>It would be a long journey ahead.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I need friends.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
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